


Getting his Man

by Floris_Oren



Series: Collar me willing [8]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Art, Ball Gags, Bondage, Cock Cages, F/M, I don't know exactly what to call this style, M/M, Watching others having sex, a BIT of pain play, dinning room sex, not much, sex on the table, third person type of description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 05:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floris_Oren/pseuds/Floris_Oren
Summary: Peter celebrates with Neal after he arrests another criminal. Elizabeth Watches and Muses.





	Getting his Man

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't have a lot to do with the previous stories. Basically, whenever a story idea presents itself for this AU I'm going to write it; also, I started a job and I wanted to get this done before I have to leave for work today. I hope to do more details in the future. but I dunno. I kinda like this.   
> Also, there are some Victorian era words in this. I thought it'd be fun to try and use something different for this. I dunno how that worked out. but please let me know what you thought of the word play.

**_Neal doesn’t say anything;_ ** in two ways. One, he is usually gagged. Sometimes he has a smart mouth and not always can he keep himself from goading Peter just that little bit more until there’s a slight edge of pain lacing through Peter’s thrusts into him. And he doesn’t say anything the next day when Peter is relaxing around the house. He goes about business as usual. Cleaning and sucking off his Master and Mistress as if his life depended on it. 

 

He and El had gotten over their slight hump; and now life is good. Sure, Neal is always up to something, but not at this moment. Not really. Because he’s face down on the dining room table. Blinds open behind him. Not that anyone can see but that’s not the point. The Potential is. Peter is finishing with fastening down his feet to the table legs. Spreading him as wide as the furniture is made. Neal’s hands are fastened behind him in a new leather cuffing system. 

 

One arm stacked atop the other. A buckle between the two which questing fingers cannot find. To finish it off a ball gag; spreading those lips and making it impossible for Neal to talk - as was established previously. Indeed, this is not the first time Neal has been in this position and not the last. Finally, his caged cock hands down. He’d been milked that morning. So there isn’t a fear he’ll “drool” on the carpet. Even though Peter also put a towel down just in case. 

 

Neal felt as if he were the subject of an erotic artist; Peter had thought out the composition, and worked in detail to make sure he got his point across to the audience. And a wonderful audience she was. Elizabeth watched quietly as Peter worked Neal into Position. If she were an artist, she’d be sketching this scene out. She may - She thought - ask Neal to do so later. He always had a skill for drawing what she described. She had several of these pictures hanging about the house. Unheeding of visitors. Or what secrets those sketches held. 

 

She’d describe the way Peter’s fingers, covered in lube, poked into Neal’s aperture; making Neal moan and try to wiggle in his bonds; forgetting all presence of demure, resulting in Neal’s lapse into his debasement. This reverie would continue; making him squeamish as he drew. Eyes alit with the memory. Of course he wouldn’t be able to finish himself off. That is against the rules. He’d bring her off though, with his wiley tongue. And she’d frame his sketch and hang it - she thinks - in the living room. 

 

Neal moans on the table, then, Peter is balls deep inside him. There is hardly any preparation this time; for that is not the point of this. Neal groans - Peter fucks him. There is no suavity to this. Neal, gagged as he is, cannot encourage his Master in the way he likes. This is fucking, truest to the formal meaning of the word. Hedonistic sex just for it to happen. 

 

Elizabeth watches, and sips at her juice. Until Peter cum’s deep in Neal, and leaves him open to the cold air of the room to tickle his insides as they gape open from the rough treatment. Neal breathing slowly goes from hurried and pained, to gentle and resting. 

 

Elizabeth smiles, and kisses Peter, half dressed. “Glad you got your man.” she said. 

 

Peter knows that she meant the man he’d spent the last month chasing after, no one, however, was as good a chase as Neal. He has to give his slave that much credit. Even if he’d never say it. Yet, he agrees. 

 

He does - in fact, have his man. 


End file.
